


Javert's Diary

by theoreticallychaotic



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Humor, Javert is no Bridget Jones, Parody, Poor Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticallychaotic/pseuds/theoreticallychaotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert hurls himself into the Seine and into unexpected events. The following diary extracts give insight into his experience. </p>
<p>One-too-many vinos may have heavily influenced this fic...and Javert's suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Javert's Diary

Dearest Diary,

I was reaching but I fell, and the stars were black and cold. The night was closing in…It has been said that hitting water from a great height is not unlike hitting concrete and I was inclined to agree until I found that I had indeed hit concrete! Naturally, I thought, as the swirling waters of the Seine swirled beside me, there can only be one explanation for this – 24601! Only he can thwart my attempt to end my life! He will be hunted down! Until then, my poetic opening sentences require my urgent attention.

*****

 

Dearest Diary,

I seek Valjean here, I seek Valjean there. My search for that blasted convict, 24601, has resumed. Regrettably, my day did not begin well, and failed to improve thereafter – damn that Valjean! The streets have been cleared of carriages and in their stead are fume-spilling contraptions called ‘buses’. Damn that dolt lawyer and his up-with-the-people friends! Who else would have the insanity to take away personalised transportation for us respectable individuals and force us to endure with scum like them?

I positioned myself in the furthest seat of one of those wretched vehicles (Memo: After the capture of 24601 make it an immediate priority to write a complaint with regard to the lack of leg-room and over-head storage for essential convict-hunting items such as a nightstick and hat). Those revolutionaries – the drunken one in particular – succeeded in furthering my irritation by broadcasting through the vehicle a comprehensive history of Paris – the crime, the fear, the suffering, as if I need to know that! I caused most of it! Though not the crime, of course, that’s what people like Valjean are for.

Mercifully this torturous education came to an abrupt halt as we came to an abrupt halt at the Arc de Triomphe, and by the stars I could not believe what they have done! They’ve turned it into a round-a-bout! A Traffic. Management. System! And worse! On escaping that miserable bus, I spied something incredibly tall out of the corner of my eye. I turned to be confronted by a metal tower towering high into the air. Raising my nightstick aloft, I asked “Who is responsible for this monstrous and highly illegal erection here?” only for the surrounding gamins and wastrels to splutter with laughter. Don’t they know I am the law and the law is not mocked?!

*****

 

Dearest Diary,

Every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be watching you. I have abandoned attempts to be poetic and literary in favour of a lyrical aspect. The improvement is questionable. 

Valjean continues to evade me and my Nightstick of Justice. 

In more successful developments I today located the Conciergerie. Of course, given the vast size and design of said building, my colleagues have obviously found themselves with extra coin since the last time I reported in. Strangely, however, there was a significant lack of prisoners, wretches and citizens of ill morals. I throw myself into the Seine (or at least, attempt to) and this is what happens! I made to take up these urgent concerns with the authorative-looking figure stood guard only to be momentarily blinded by the brightest of lights. The stars cleared to reveal two females of questionable sense draped around me in the most inappropriate of manners. “It’s like when we were in Bath and we met Jane Austen.” remarked the dark-haired girl, a little too joyfully. (Note: Find out who this Austen harlot is and end her dubious behaviour in the bath immediately!). I made to extricate myself from their unwelcome company only for the blonde girl to begin stroking my sideburns! I believe she may have tugged my well-groomed ponytail too. Further, as though I was not feeling de-sanctified enough, they touched my nightstick! THEY TOUCHED MY NIGHTSTICK! 

*****

 

Dearest Diary,

Ring, ring, why don’t you give me a call? I have acquired something called an I-Phone. Also, I am apparently a closet ABBA fan. My Nightstick of Justice and I confiscated it (the I-Phone, not ABBA) from a faction of feral youths who dared mock the law! More over, I celebrated this small triumph at a local café. (Note: Drink double-shot espresso more often. The caffeine helps emphasize pent-up anger and maintain much-needed energy for the pursuit of Justice and bread-stealing convicts). On entering 24601 into the I-Phone Valjean did not appear, regrettably, but a young man soon appeared with something called a ‘Pizza’ and demanded I settle the bill. 

Further perusal of the I-Phone led me to happen across something called the YouTube. Amidst numerous moving images of cats yawning (Note: Must watch again) were images of me…or, more accurately, others masquerading as me. One sang a song about stars – as if I’d sing such a thing! Lord, let me find them! 

I also found 24601 – two of them to be precise! This simply cannot be! 

…It is late now and I cannot sleep. Nor can I stop singing. “There out in the darkness, two fugitives running…”

Two! TWO! It’s enough to make a man want to throw himself into the Seine!

*****

 

Dearest Diary,

I have discovered a previously unknown ability to traverse time and space: I would blame Valjean – both of them – but this is too wonderful to be of their doing. 

As a result: Success! In short time and with little effort, my Nightstick of Justice and I had rounded up both Valjeans; tall, blue-eyed Valjean alleged his real name was Liam Neeson. The other, I found cleverly disguised as a Bishop in a film about my life. They have called it ‘Les Misérables’. I have never been miserable and will see them all duly flogged for this slanderous interpretation of my character. I hastily frog-marched both men to the Prefect before I remembered the fraudulent ‘me’s still on my ‘to arrest’ list.

A quick dash over the Equator courtesy of my new talent and they were soon in my care. They claim their names are Geoffrey Rush and Philip Quast. Certainly I admire their creativity in the coining of their alibis – far more convincing than Heidi Sikh! They are both Australian too, which explains their behaviour; they obviously have convict roots.

I returned to the prison to find it crowded with the worst excesses of society and had little choice but to remand them with the 24601s (NB: Speak to Prefect about a possible extension to the prisoners’ quarters). On leaving the cell the conversation between my detainees became most interesting: tall, blue-eyed Valjean turned to the-one-who-calls-himself-Geoffrey and commented on his likeness to myself. I opened the door once more and stepped inside to hear the-one-who-calls-himself-Philip shout “And I’m Javert!” (This is as good as a confession). 

*****

 

Dearest Diary,

My glee surrounding yesterday’s arrests continued. A celebration seemed in order and did so in modest style with a double-shot espresso and pizza. I decided to forgo another journey on that damnable bus. 

The pizza arrived promptly, though not via the young man from my previous, if accidental, pizza-ordering experience. This time, the pizza-bearer looked exactly like 24601. I have that sinking feeling that my arrestees have been truthful in all that they have said (For Reference: This does not absolve Geoffrey Rush and Philip Quast of any wrong-doing in stealing, using and generally abusing my identity).

I have decided I must escape now from this world of Jean Valjean. There is nowhere I can turn; there is no way to go on…

*****

 

Dearest Diary,

I was reaching but I fell, and the stars were black and cold. The night was closing in…It has been said that hitting water from a great height is not unlike hitting concrete and I was inclined to agree until I found that I had hit concrete! Naturally, I thought, as the swirling waters of the Seine swirled beside me, there can only be one explanation for this…apologies, I seem to be experiencing the most peculiar sense of déjà vu…

…

DAMN THAT VALJEAN!!!

 

*****


End file.
